Peacock
by Flaming Black Skull
Summary: Julius' musings on his life...And why he emulates the Peacock.


The peacock is a beautiful creature immersed in lore and legend. Its luminous feathers of refracting brilliance catapulted it into the heart of societies such as the Greeks, the Romans, and the Chinese. It is a symbol of strength, nobility, renewal, and love. To emulate such a beast is not for the mundane. It takes something more; a spark of something extra that is rarely found in a person. It takes a certain grandiose that many lack. It takes the desire to preen at one's being until a level of perfection is closely met. This perfection is in the eye of the beholder; Some see the peacock and its arching train as a ostentatious fowl that is the symbol for sins such as vanity. Others view it as a wonderous creature simply looking for a partner.

I feel I am peer to a peacock. The male peafowl has been in my image of self since I was a very young boy.

My parents are artists, and an exercise they practiced was one that dealt with finding your inner self; generally in the form of an animal. A beastly representation of your most inner thoughts and desires was neccesary to the form; Once it is exposed, you can truly know yourself. It is your humanity, in a rather abstract way. This was central and pivotal in my sense of identity, and it made me who I am today.

It sounds incredibly insane, but it did do its job. It gave me purpose and an outlet; an image to start with.

As a result of the outlandish animal I emulate, many people fail to understand me. It is one thing to be a misunderstood artist, but to have your whole identity questioned as a result of the way one behaves and appears is an entirely different issue.

I learned my craft in a town called Castanet. It was a little place off the coast: very inspiring and incredibly beautiful. My parents and I traveled there upon our many adventures. It was simply one stop of many, but I fell in love with the place. I begged them to let me stay. I was about sixteen. There were (and still are) three main sections: the main town, the mining district, and the agricultural space. The latter took up about half of the area. I learned my craft from a man named Tom who lived in the mining district. He owned a store that catered to refining ore and creating jewlery from the various gems miners dug up. He was a wonderful man that died too soon and left a widow behind. She was an affable woman named Mira. They were like family to me.

The point is, Mira and Tom never cared about how outlandish I was. My parents did. They were very uptight people, despite being artists. Quite aristocratic, prudish even. They always meddled in my life, always worrying what others think about me. They probably meant well; The way I behave often garners negative attention. The issue was that my self-expression was just that: A reflection of who I was inside. If I were to compromise that for the sake of others, I was compromising my very existance. They never understood that. They didn't want me to be bullied; Hell, I didn't want to be bullied. If I could be different, I would. But I can't. They disliked me for my stubborness and my subversion of what society thought I should behave like, and we clashed over that my entire life. Our arguments were rather otiose.

Now that I am an adult, they are less meddlesome. It's a bit of continued on with their travels, as did I after I finished my apprenticeship with Tom. But something about that little town was so pleasing that I desired to visit it again. When I did, I simply decided to stay. I was a lover of the world, but that place made me stay.

Few people understand me here. They think my resplendant clothing is clownish, my long hair is freakish, my gestures are too feminine, and the way I talk is too flamboyant.

To me, art is about freeing yourself; To be what you want to be, what makes you feel good: not conforming to what everyone thinks you should be or what should make you feel good. For me, it's wearing my hair long and dressing like a goddamn dandy. If people have a problem with that, I hardly care.

I would describe myself as eccentric; others would dare even baroque. Reguardless, I stand out. I enjoy it most of the time, but sometimes, as in the case of my childhood, it can be the creation of loneliness.

The peafowl is a type of pheasant, or maybe a descendant. I can't remember. Reguardless, it is a member of the family of a rather ordinary bird. One that is even domesticated in parts of the world. However, the peafowl has been set apart for its effulgent feathers and its seemingly audacious swagger, and I intend to follow in that legacy. I was never meant for the mundane.

I feel that in my heart.


End file.
